How Mycroft found his Star-fish
by FFabeonG
Summary: When a murder case suddenly leads to Mycroft's capture,it doesn't take much brain-power for him to know things looks bleak. But there's a glimmer of help from an unexpected source,and as Mycroft braves all that is being thrown at him, he realises he can't understand something about his helper. Why does he catch himself caring about her feelings? Could it be that the ice is melting?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1- Criminal Name: Olinair, Act: Kidnap**

"It doesn't seem natural, Mycroft."

"When has anything we have been consulted with been normal?" Mycroft glanced over his paper at his little brother, who was conducting a chemistry experiment on the coffee table, much to John's annoyance. Sherlock frowned, holding up the test tube and swirling its smoking contents.

"Yes, yes, yes, I know that, but still..." Sherlock lowered the mixture and began to measure out more hydrochloric acid. "Three murders with no connection other than they all suffered explosion wounds and were committed under bridges going in a clockwise direction around the city."

"And they were all the member of public who happened to be there at time." Mycroft added, returning to the article he was reading.

"You're sure of that?" Sherlock raised his eyebrows, never looking away from the pipette of what looked suspiciously like blood which he was dipping into another test tube.

"Positive." His older brother returned snappily. "Tonight she should be at the Cherreld Bridge, only she won't find anyone she can murder."

"How can you make sure no-one will be there?" John asked, having finally looked up from his blog.

"You're asking Mycroft Holmes if he can make sure no-one is under a bridge?" Sherlock remarked before Mycroft could reply. "He'd start a war if he just needed me out of the country."

"No, I'd just trick you into buying your own plane ticket, Sherlock." Mycroft rolled his eyes as he glanced at his watch. "It's nearly time. If I call you, you know where to meet me."

"Fine." Sherlock grunted, still unwilling to admit he was helping his brother.

"Good luck." John had returned to his blog and didn't bother looking up as Mycroft left 221b, shrugging on his coat and taking his trusty umbrella as he left.

A single electric light shone feebly in the otherwise deserted tunnel that was littered with rubbish and cigarette stubs. Looking at these, Mycroft thought about the policemen he had on hold at crucial points around the city, places he expected the murderer to flee to. At that point, Mycroft heard firm, high-heeled booted footsteps and he shrunk into the shadows as around the corner and into the tunnel came a tall, middle-aged woman, dressed in black and with her hands in her pockets.

Expensive tastes, down on luck with money in the last three years though. Washes her hair every night, suffered from a weak immune system in childhood. Mother dead, father cleared off in a matter of weeks. Expecting someone. Mycroft deduced this all in a matter of seconds and more, but didn't move or say anything until she passed him.

"Good evening, Miss Olinair." He stepped into the open and she whipped around, her fleeting expression of surprise quickly hidden.

"Hello Mr. Holmes." She bared her teeth in a cat-like grin. "You seem to know who I am."

"Elaine Olinair, 44, originally from Luton, your mother died when you were ten, this is after her remarriage. You moved to London about five years ago after the disappearance of your half-sister, to shorten all that I know." Mycroft returned, satisfied by her suddenly shocked expression.

"I was told I might find you here." Elaine Olinair regained herself quickly.

"Oh really." Although it was addressed as a question, Mycroft spoke in a monotone-like voice and didn't bat an eyelid when the murderer strolled up so she was standing in front of him.

"Yup." Elaine Olinair smirked "He told me that he'd organised things so you would get this case, not your little brother, and you'd be here tonight."

"He."

"Please, I don't do this for fun, well, not often. You knew there was someone behind me, didn't you?"

In a flash, the last pieces of the puzzle fell into place, and Mycroft's mind whizzed through the various people who could be behind this. Then he narrowed his eyes.

"Moriarty." Was all he said. Elaine Olinair practically cackled.

"There it is!" she said "But there is something else about these...events, shall we call them, that you will know, or should know."

"Personally I call a spade a spade, so we shall call them murders. That's all they were." Mycroft replied.

"You're wrong!" Olinair seemed delighted "Great Mycroft Holmes is wrong about something!" then she paused "Well, they were obviously murders, but they weren't _just_ murders! There was a target, Mr. Holmes, someone we wanted and killed to get them."  
It felt to Mycroft as if an icicle was sliding down his chest, but he didn't say a word. Elaine Olinair's crazed smile widened, and she said,  
"You. The real target, Mr. Holmes, was you, and I could just shoot you now, but you already know I like the...explosive touch."

With those words, the woman threw something small on the ground. Something which was making a tick, tick, ticking noise and had a little flashing red light. But as Mycroft suddenly looked down at what looked like a bomb, he received a heavy blow to the side of his head, so powerful it knocked him to the ground. His head hit the pavement as he fell, and he was knocked out cold, everything fading into sudden blackness...

* * *

_A/: DUN DUN DUUUUUUN! haha sorry about that :P also sorry for the short chapter; you guys know me...  
more to come soon!  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2- Motive: unclear, Help: probable?**

Mycroft opened his eyes at the same moment he received a sharp blow across the face. Shaking his head, he tried to look about and figure out where he was, discovering in the process that his wrists were chained together behind his back and his ankles were bound as well. He was on the cold, hard floor of what looked- in the dim light of a single light bulb swinging from the ceiling- like an empty, and absolutely freezing, cellar. Only, apart from Mycroft, it wasn't quite empty.

"Awake at last?" Mycroft's head jerked up to see Elaine Olinair standing over him, a small gun in her hands and a smirk on her face. Mycroft didn't say anything, but the woman's smirk grew wider. "It must be so humiliating..." she taunted "To have been outsmarted by someone as commonplace as me."

"The one who commands you is not commonplace however." Mycroft stated flatly. "What do you want?"

Elaine turned and snatched something from a tiny table in the corner, something that looked like a sheaf of papers before returning to glare down at him.

"Let's see..." she drawled, looking down at the sheets of paper. "Here we are: What is the case your brother is studying at the moment?"

Mycroft didn't say a word.

"Are you deaf?" Elaine Olinair raised her eyebrows "I repeat, what is your brother's main case at the moment?" Still Mycroft said nothing and Olinair not-too-gently tapped the gun to the side of his head. "Maybe it's tracking down a lost husband? Or searching for a certain lost jewel- not that's he'd find it." Mycroft's refusal to answer caused a flash of annoyance to pass over the murderer's face before she struck him across the face with the gun, a particularly sharp edge of it managing to cut his cheek open. "Speak!" she nearly shrieked at him. Mycroft still didn't say anything, silently swearing not to say a word that could endanger his little brother or any of Sherlock's friends in any way.

The 'interrogation' went on for what felt like forever, with Olinair demanding to know various things, from cases both the Holmes brothers had handled in the past, to whether Sherlock knew of Moriarty's most recent plans or hiding places. Throughout it all, Mycroft never said a word, suffering the threats, blows and kicks all in silence. Finally, Olinair strode out with a noise of disgust, a clink of a locking door behind her as it slammed shut, and the elder Holmes slumped back against the wall, biting back a slight groan of pain and turning only to spit some blood out of his mouth. He shivered, noting how cold it was and also that both his coat, jacket and tie were missing, as well as his phone, and he tried to look around to gauge if there was any possible means of escape. The room looked more like a metal box, no windows, a tiny ventilator in the corner, and the only door being the one in front of him, a heavy metal door with strong locks that looked impenetrable. The flickering light was making his head hurt; Mycroft closed his eyes in a vain attempt to stop his aching head from spinning but it was all too much and he somehow slipped into a state of semi-consciousness, no matter how hard he tried to stay awake... 

Something soft and cooling was pressed to the side of his head, and Mycroft's eyes snapped open instantly, and the person crouching beside him drew away slightly like a frightened animal. Blinking once or twice, Mycroft immediately realised that this was not Elaine Olinair, but someone else; someone he had never seen before. Even in the dim light, he could make out her dark chocolate eyes, caramel-coloured skin, and thin black hair, strands of which escaped from its short ponytail and hung around her thin, pinched face. And yet, despite the obvious Asian ancestry written in her features, there was something in the shape of her face, the set of her mouth, and her eyes that was...familiar.

"You...you're Elaine Olinair's sister." Mycroft stared at her. The woman bit her lip worriedly and nodded.

"Half-sister." She corrected in a whisper, even though they were alone. Her eyes flickered back to his head, and she returned to gently pressing the damp cloth to the cut he had received when he had fallen and Mycroft watched her curiously as she did so. The concern in her eyes, the gentleness of her actions, and the simple fact that she was doing this for him was so different from the actions of her sister, and he couldn't help but voice his question.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Why shouldn't I?" the woman replied softly. It was a genuine question she was asking, but when Mycroft gave no reply, she went on, "Anyone would help someone who is injured, or they should."

"Not the company you keep, however." he pointed out. The woman paused and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Do you really think I have a choice?" she asked, tilting her head back and slightly more into the light. Mycroft immediately picked up on the small scar above her left eyebrow and the faint, yet definitely present, bruises on her pinched cheeks and neck, and read the whole story.

"You never went missing." He murmured, frowning. "Your own half-sister basically kidnapped you and you've been forced to help her in her work for Moriarty."

"Exactly." The woman dipped the cloth back into a tiny bowl of water by her feet and began to clean the fresh cut on his cheek. "She used to keep me here, you know. To frighten me." She suddenly stopped, and there was a sudden glint of fear and worry in her eyes.

"I won't say a word to her about any of that." Mycroft said, picking up at once what she had thought.

"Thank you." The woman replied, tilting her head as she observed the injuries she had tried to help. But still, Mycroft could easily see the clear sadness in her gaze, and out of a vague concern that surprised himself, he asked,

"What's that matter?"

The woman hung her head slightly as she whispered,

"I'm sorry, sir."

"For what?"

"I'm sorry for what is going to happen to you. I know that you won't say a word against Sherlock Holmes, but I also know what that may mean for you."

"Sherlock?" Mycroft tried to lean forward. "That's what they want, isn't it? Information about Sherlock?!"

"I-I don't know!"

"Oh come now, you nearly said it!" Mycroft lowered his voice, speaking as if she was a scared young animal. "That can't be all they want. If they needed information on my little brother, there are much better ways of finding it out than me. There must be something more."

"I-I..." nervously, the woman glanced up to the ceiling before she spoke again. "They- they want information...that only you know. No, please don't ask me anything more!" she almost shrunk away. "You have no idea what Elaine would do to me if she found out I was here now, let alone telling you these things!"

"Strangely enough, I get the feeling that I might find out what your half-sister is capable of first-hand." Mycroft commented dryly, and saw the corner of the woman's mouth twitch slightly towards a smile; a smile that looked...nice. There was a little silence, and Mycroft could tell by the way she was gazing absent-mindedly at the floor that she was deep in thought. Then she raised her head and said,

"I'm sorry that I cannot stop her hurting you."

"It's not the worst that's happened."

"But I can help you." The inner corners of her eyebrows twitched as she thought. "Elaine wants to starve you, for a start. I won't let that happen. And every time she hurts you, I'll see what I can do for it, I promise. I'm not exactly useless when it comes to first aid."

"Thank you." Mycroft couldn't say anything else, realising that for someone living in this much oppression, that was a lot to promise.

"It's the least that...I can do." As she spoke, the woman placed one hand on the wall and used it to shakily get to her feet. As she did so, there was a strange, almost metallic clicking sound , and Mycroft looked down to see that her right foot was prosthetic, only it didn't have the covering that made it look...normal. "It's a little on the strange side, isn't it?" the woman noticed him looking. Mycroft noted that she didn't sound insulted by his reaction to it, and he glanced up at her as he asked,

"How did that happen?"

"A car accident when I was three." She replied easily "From my knee downwards, it's all fake, but I got used to it."

"I see." Suddenly, there was a crashing noise from somewhere above their heads and the woman looked up sharply.

"That might be Elaine." She murmured, and slowly began to move towards the door. "I'm sorry; I have to go."

"Then go." Mycroft urged her "Don't put yourself in too much danger."

"I will do my best." Again, the corner of her mouth twitched and like that, she was gone, closing the metal door behind her and promising she would return. Mycroft sat back against the wall again, pondering. He had realised soon that this wasn't a trick, this woman- whoever she was- was genuinely helping him. That had been real fear in her eyes. But still, why should someone like her basically risk her life for him? Hours and hours passed, and Mycroft's thoughts wandered to his little brother. What was he doing now? Did he know what had happened to Mycroft, and was he doing anything about it?

"Sherlock whatever you do, don't be stupid and get yourself hurt." Mycroft muttered to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3- Criminal tactics: brutal, Help: available**

What felt like the next day, a fairly similar agenda occurred, only now, when Elaine Olinair appeared in Mycroft's cell, she was smoking a large cigarette and had a confident smirk on her face.

"Moriarty must be paying you well." Mycroft said expressionlessly "Bradley's cigarettes are not cheap."

"Is there anything you don't see?" Olinair retorted. Then she snapped her fingers and glared behind her. "Get on with it!" she snapped, and from the shadows emerged the woman he had met the day before, only gone was any hint of self-confidence; she kept her head down, looking at the ground as her hair fell across her face, her walking awkward on her prosthetic leg, and her hand trembling as she crouched down beside Mycroft and reached to his shirt cuffs. Bloody h*ll she was terrified, her shaking hands as she slowly rolled up both of Mycroft's sleeves showed as much, and he observed what looked suspiciously like fresh bruises on her neck, as well as strange marks that looked almost like...burns. She drew away once she had pulled back his sleeves, baring his forearms and Elaine Olinair pushed her out of the way as she glared down at the British government.

"Now you know what, Mr. Holmes? I have permission to avoid the subject of your brother- for now at least- and question you about more...relevant things." She said.

"That covers a wide range of things relating to what I do, you may have to be more specific." Mycroft returned coolly.

"Fine then. Don't bother lying about whether the Norwegians want to build a military base in the UK, just tell me where."

"It would do you no good to know just that." Mycroft replied.

"Oh really? I don't think so, but maybe you could explain why that is."

"I dislike wasting time, so I don't think I shall."

Elaine Olinair's eyes flashed as she took a drag of her cigarette.

"Are you sure about that?" she said "Believe it or not, Mr. Holmes, I would rather not use violence against you to get information, but if I need to..."

"I don't think I do believe that, to be honest. I can't think why." Mycroft responded, sarcasm ringing on his last sentence.

"Then I won't disappoint you." Elaine Olinair suddenly leant down and dug the burning end of her cigarette onto his bare arm, holding it there for ten seconds before pulling back. Mycroft stayed as tense as he had been, gritting his teeth as the only outward sign of pain. "You don't fool me, Holmes." She scowled at him, obviously annoyed by his lack of reaction. "That hurt you. And I will do it again unless you tell me what I want to know! Where will the base be built?!"

"I've already tried to tell you it will do you no good to know that." Mycroft replied, hiding his amusement at Elaine Olinair's frustration. She didn't waste time, burning him again and demanding her question. Once again, Mycroft came back with a sarcastic answer and she retorted in the same way before calming herself down and suddenly switching to other military-based questions.

"Why has Kenya been trying to contact the head of the army for months now?"  
"What's with all the secrecy surrounding Switzerland recently?"  
"Surely your brother could just drop in there and catch their assassin."

The questioning went on like that, with Olinair often interspersing questions about Sherlock, obviously trying to catch him out, but Mycroft would refuse to answer, not even sarcastically, and by the time Olinair left and he was alone, he knew first-hand where his helper's burns had come from.

And he didn't have to wait long to confirm his theory. Just over an hour seemed to pass before the metal door swung open, and the woman crept in, holding in her hand some food and a tiny key on a piece of blue string.

"Your half-sister is asleep on the sofa in the sitting room, so you are taking the opportunity to, instead of enjoy a little freedom, to see me?" Mycroft deduced and questioned, but with a faint twitch of his lips. The woman gave something of a chuckle at his words and nodded.

"She would punish me if I even went to the shops, so I may as well do something useful." She said, no longer whispering. Her voice had quite a melodic tone to it; it was quite attractive, and her hands weren't shaking at all as she gestured for Mycroft to lean forward and unlocked the chains on his wrists. He winced slightly as he stretched his arms out, rubbing where the metal had nearly cut his skin, and looked down at the burns.

"She tested on you first." He stated, glancing up at the woman, who had sat down properly in front of him, one foot curled under her thigh while stretching her half-prosthetic leg out in front.

"Of course." She replied "But I've gotten used to stuff like it over time."

"You are a very strong woman." Mycroft noted, not bothered by the lack of cutlery as he began to eat, which caused him to miss the expression of surprise and the slight blush which crossed his companion's face.

"Really?" he glanced up when she said that, and replied,

"Of course. You shouldn't doubt yourself, you know."

"I'll bare that in mind." Again, the woman chuckled, and Mycroft was glad to hear it. Then suddenly he paused, and looked up at her properly.

"What?" she asked.

"I don't know your name." He said, frowning slightly. "I must have seen it, but I don't remember it. I didn't consider it important at the time."

"Just call me Star." The woman replied softly, raising her eyes to meet Mycroft's. They were darker than he had realised, almost like melting dark chocolate, like the 70% cocoa chocolate that may come from the common supermarket, but was like heaven in a bar.

"Star." He repeated, turning it over in his mind. "It suits you." He had spoken without thinking then, but didn't regret it.

"T-thank you. It's not actually far off from my real name, but..." her voice trailed off and Mycroft recognised the look in her eyes that voiced her fear she had said too much.

"I promise I won't call you that in front of your sister." He said immediately to comfort her.

"I know you won't." Star replied, her expression relaxing. "I trust you."  
At that, Mycroft blinked at her, his forehead creasing into a frown. "What?" Star noticed this.

"I can't remember the last time someone said that to me."

Star tilted her head to the side slightly and asked,

"Why?" her honesty, Mycroft decided, was one of the things he liked best about her. He shrugged slightly in reply to her question.

"I suppose because I am not someone people instinctively trust with personal matters." He replied thoughtfully. "I am not my brother, though he must have been the last person to say that to me." Mycroft paused and a small smile crossed his lips. "Not since he was much younger, of course." He added.

"I've never even seen him." Star was tracing circles on the floor and her eyebrows twitched in the same way as before while she was thinking. "I've only ever heard about him, from my sister, and the few times I've overheard her boss talking to him."

"Moriarty?" Mycroft placed his fingertips together and listened closer.

"I think so." Suddenly Star shuddered. "I don't like him." She murmured flatly.

"Frankly I do not blame you." Mycroft returned with a small nod. "You didn't hear them planning for...this, at all?"

"I didn't hear anything about you, at least, not that I can remember..." Star's forehead creased as she cast her mind back

"What did they say about Sherlock?" Mycroft persisted and his companion closed her eyes.

"He said..." she replied slowly "That he was...something like his favourite, or was the best one he'd seen in ages."

"One...what?" Mycroft frowned, concentrating. Star shook her head, opening her eyes.

"I don't know." She admitted. "That was all I heard from them."

"I see. Thank you." Mycroft finished eating and Star put the plate to one side.

"You're welcome." She replied with a small smile. "I could get you something for the burns if you want; I'll pour some of the milk down the sink so Elaine makes me go buy more and I can get something from the shop."

"Don't worry about it." Mycroft reassured her. "Going shopping two days in a row might cause her to be suspicious."

"How did you know I had been shopping yesterday?" Star blinked and Mycroft couldn't hold back a small smile.

"Underneath your jumper I can see you're wearing the same top as yesterday. You've pulled back your jumper sleeves so I can see the creases on your shirt which could only be caused by going out in windy weather, and only if you were wearing a coat no less that three sizes too big for you. I would also say that your coat has a collar and is a royal ink blue, but the colour has faded over the years." Mycroft explained with ease. Looking down at her sleeves in some wonder, Star actually laughed.

"You make it sound so simple!" she grinned, brushing her hair out of her eyes. "You seem to see everything!"

"Oh it's not about seeing, it's about _observing_." Now Mycroft somewhat understood why Sherlock enjoyed explaining the science of deduction to John; it was nice having someone who was genuinely interested in how he knew things others didn't.

"Observing, so like not just seeing a set of stairs, but counting how many there are?" Star's eyebrows twitched again as she thought.

"Exactly so." Mycroft nodded, impressed by how quickly she had picked up on the theory. People he had tried to explain this to in the past had taken ages just to come to terms with the simple concept of taking in what one saw. Surprisingly eager to explain more, Mycroft gestured to Star's sleeve. "If you look closely," he said "you can see the small strands of blue clothing fibre that lead me to deduce your coat."

"How did you see in this light?" Star mused, picking at one of these strands of blue.

"Practice." Mycroft returned with the faintest of chuckles just as Star's watch gave a small bleep and she glanced down at it. "What time is it?" Mycroft asked, realising as he did so how tired he was.

"Quarter to five." Star replied, and looked back up at the British government with an apologetic look in her eyes.

"You have to go?" he picked up.

"Yes, Elaine will be awake around five and I can't let her catch me coming from here or there'll be h*ll to pay!" as she spoke, Star had to re-chain Mycroft's wrists, but she deliberately made them looser so it wouldn't cause him pain this time.

"Thank you, Star." Mycroft said as she shakily got to her feet, picked up what she had brought, and began to move to the door. When he said that, she turned back with her small smile and replied,

"You're very welcome."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4- Overall motive: Understood**

Hours slipped into hours like a gentle flowing stream, but still the only thing that finally caused Mycroft to sleep was sheer exhaustion after what must have been nearly a day. Time was beginning to lose meaning. Thoughts were his only company, and they weren't exactly good roommates. Thoughts and theories about his current situation, escape plans that would all be useless unless his hands were free, and about Star rambled around his head, sometimes plodding and sometimes racing. Often Mycroft would find his mind drifting to the dark-haired woman and her kindness to him, despite the fact she was putting herself at risk. But he tried his best to push those thoughts away, because every time he considered the personal danger Star was living in, a feeling he was normally used to, but in a different way, would come creeping in, and he didn't want to consider worrying about her. Well, maybe not _too_ much, but still...

Most of all, Mycroft was worried for Sherlock, and what he could be doing. The last thing he wanted was for his little brother to end up getting hurt- or worse- just because Mycroft was missing; and Mycroft was sure that was the conclusion Sherlock would have come to, because no matter how he wracked his brain or visited his own mind palace, he could remember no hint to Elaine Olinair being connected to the works of James Moriarty. Whether Sherlock would just presume Mycroft's work had suddenly caught up and sealed him off, or if he would actually _worry_(?), was something Mycroft couldn't predict, despite how well he knew his brother. But worrying was so...un-Sherlock that it was highly doubtful he would be, at least until Anthea said anything, but even then he would probably just wave her off with a vague explanation.

Suddenly, the sound of the metal hinges creaking pierced the otherwise silent air, and Mycroft's head jerked up, only for him to relax as he saw it was Star who had entered, tiny key in hand. But almost immediately, he frowned again as he took in her appearance. Star chuckled as if everything was normal as she unlocked his wrists, but he could hear the hint of forced cheeriness.

"So what have I done today?" she asked with her smile. Mycroft hesitated, a move which surprised himself because it wasn't that he didn't know, it was that he wasn't sure if saying everything he could tell would upset her. For some reason, he didn't want to do that.

"You have been drawing earlier." He stated "I'd say you started in pencil, but then went over the main lines with a fountain pen before using pastel for the colour. An unusual landscape scene, I would guess."

"Correct as ever!" Star smiled, but Mycroft couldn't keep back his words any more. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice and said,

"What did she do to you?"  
Immediately, Star paled ever-so-slightly, but adopted an expression of mild confusion.

"What do you mean?" she asked. Slowly, Mycroft leaned forward and took Star's hand in his own, holding it gently and observing it more closely.

"Look at you." He said softly. Even in his palm, her hand was visibly shaking or trembling as if she was scared. He looked back up at Star and went on, "I had my suspicions about mild PTSD when I first saw you, but now something has obviously happened to trigger this." He still held her hand. Star looked at the ground, her eyes somewhat listless, but the inner corners of her eyebrows betrayed her deep thought.

"Yesterday..." she began slowly, and her voice had dropped down to a quiet murmur "M-my sister's boss came to visit."

"Moriarty was here?!" Mycroft questioned tensely "Did you manage to overhear any conversation?"

"I didn't need to evesdrop, Mr. Holmes, they were talking _to_ me." Star replied and even as she said this, she shuddered. "Mr. Moriarty...he was...just so scary. It felt like he knew exactly how he could hurt me, torture me, and he was just waiting for the right opportunity to use that knowledge."

"He can seem intimidating." Mycroft nodded "But _he_ didn't hurt you."

"No. He- he just _looked_ at me and said to Elaine 'You have a soft-hearted sister. Be careful that she doesn't end up socialising with your dear guest.' I presume he meant you by that, but..."

"What?"

"I don't know..." Star glanced up at Mycroft, looking slightly confused. "He said guest, which sounds kind of temporary, doesn't it?" Mycroft considered this, but then stored it in the back of his mind and concentrated on the present.

"And then..." he said slowly "Your half-sister took this to mean that you have been, ah, _socialising_ with me." Star gazed away.

"Elaine is stronger than she looks." She sighed "I may be taller, but she has known me long enough to know exactly how to get me to the ground and hurt me until I can't take it any longer." Mycroft registered that he was still holding Star's hand and slowly curled his thumb over the back of her palm so he was holding it more firmly. He wasn't sure if this was a decent way of comforting someone- he had rarely done so- but Star looked back at him and curled her fingers to his hand, and he saw a little bit of hope creep into her eyes. Gently, Mycroft squeezed her hand and noted curiously the way her cheeks flushed slightly, when suddenly he heard something. He barely heard Star asking if he was ok as he frowned, trying to listen closer. Then he suddenly tensed.

"Quickly, re-chain my hands." He commanded.

"What?" Star blinked, confused, but picked up the key.

"Do it." Mycroft leaned forward to make it easier for Star to reach as she obeyed him without question. Then the clang reached her ears as well and her eyes suddenly widened in some terror before she got to her feet as fast as her leg would permit, and she just managed to back away before the door swung open and Elaine Olinair strode in, instantly rounding on her half-sister. Star hadn't been exaggerating when she had said that she was taller than Elaine, but the way Star cowered away from Elaine's raised hand spoke louder than the abusive words she was receiving. Mycroft suddenly noticed Star slowly sneaking the blue-strung key into Elaine's open pocket and couldn't help but admire her action, when Elaine ceased her threats and shoved something into Star's hand, speaking in a low voice and only jerking a thumb at Mycroft. Star's eyes betrayed her horror, but Elaine Olinair just snapped something like,

"Get on with it. Do it!", and Star slowly obeyed whatever her sister had said, slowly moving towards Mycroft again. As she kneeled down and took the blue key back from her half-sister, Mycroft could read her eyes like a book as she looked straight at him.

"I'm sorry." She was saying. Over and over again, "I'm sorry." With trembling hands, she rolled up his shirt sleeves and gingerly pressed the syringe to his bare skin. She even dared to hesitate, but another harsh threat was thrown at her, and she injected the clear liquid into Mycroft's arm as painlessly as she could. The effect was almost instantaneous; waves of black unconsciousness rolled over his vision and everything drifted into nothing...

Mycroft woke and opened his eyes just as he was dragged through a pair of high brass doors and into a richly carpeted hall. Instinctively, he tried to struggle, but the two men holding him by the arms were strong and he instantly felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to his temple.

"No games, Mr. Holmes." A harsh London-accented voice snapped. Mycroft glanced to his left and took in the appearance of the man he knew to be Sebastian Moran, the right-hand-man and prime sniper of Moriarty.

"Moran." Mycroft spat with contempt. There was history between them that he wouldn't forget.

"Holmes." Moran returned with a sneer. "I hope you're ready to meet the one you can blame for all this mess."

"I'm sure I am." Mycroft returned coldly and Moran snickered before they stopped at an enormous door made of shining ebony wood.

"Let's see then." The sniper pushed open the doors and they entered a massive room decorated like a library. Golden handled bookcases lined the walls, the drawn curtains were a rich blood red and the sofa which Moran motioned to after unlocking Mycroft's wrists was decorated with sewn-on intricate flowers. Then Moran vanished through another pair of bold brass doors and Mycroft was left alone. Within minutes, those doors swung open again and walking through them was none other than James Moriarty, wearing Westwood and a sarcastic smile to rival any worn before.

"Ah! Mycroft Holmes! My second favourite Holmes brother!" he grinned. "No offence intended, of course. You just happen to be a tad more _boring_ than your dear brother."

"No offense is taken." Mycroft returned smoothly as Moriarty snapped his fingers and a neatly-uniformed maid came in carrying a tray full of tea things. This she placed on the low burgundy and gold-rimmed table as the men sat down, Mycroft on the sofa and Moriarty on the opposite armchair, which matched the curtains in their blood-red colour. Moriarty then began to pour the tea and Mycroft snatched the opportunity to observe the maid as she exited. A quick one-over was all it took, and Mycroft instantly knew exactly where he was. Then Moriarty handed him the tea and for a minute or so, the two men sat in silence until the criminal spoke,

"I suppose, with all your intelligence, that you have figured out why all this has happened?" he questioned politely enough, but with the gleam to his eye. "A little score- off track from Sherlock and my normal problem- but an important score none the less."

"France." Mycroft raised his eyebrows, having figured this out twenty-four hours previously, and went on, "Surely a criminal as sophisticated as yourself shouldn't be fazed by such a petty matter."

"Oh this is not petty, Mycroft Holmes, I assure you. You surely don't think I am that dull, do you?" Moriarty had given a low, feral chuckle, but his eyes narrowed as he set down his tea. "That base wasn't petty at all. It help somewhat of a...sentimental value to it." The word 'sentimental' was spoken with heavy sarcasm in the master criminal's tone. "I am rather curious as to how Sherlock tracked it down within two weeks of my, ah, _slip; _that is, a mere hint of its existence."

Mycroft inclined his head with raised eyebrows, not letting on for a second that he knew exactly what the criminal meant. Sherlock had figured the accidental hint out immediately and brought it straight to his older brother. Mycroft had worked for hours on end, cracking code after code, wall after wall of security, tricking person after person, wearing himself to a shadow until all it took was a phone call to the French government and a short plane flight for Sherlock to score a serious point against the consultant criminal. But now he said nothing. Moriarty's eyes flicked up to over Mycroft's shoulder and he heard the steady click of a gun, not showing a hint of emotion as he glanced at the small black handgun Moran was pointing lazily at his head, almost as if it was an extension of the sniper himself.

"Oh no, Sebby, I didn't quite mean _that_!" Moriarty chuckled and tilted his head towards the brass doors he had come through, "I meant..."

"Sure boss." Something near a sneer passed over Moran's face as he looked at Mycroft before going through those doors and was back in seconds with another small syringe full of a yellowish-tinged liquid, which he handed to his boss.

"Do you know what this is?" Moriarty held it up. "Or would you be too proud to admit you don't?"

"I haven't come across it personally." Mycroft responded monotonously and Moriarty chuckled maliciously.

"I've nicknamed it Crucio, after that curse from Harry Potter. I developed this myself, you know." He lazily twirled it between his fingers. "Maybe you haven't read those books. Crucio was the torturing curse. It caused excruciating pain, and so will this, to say the least." He paused and looked up at Mycroft. "Unless you give me the information I need, I will prove it to you."

The closest he ever seemed to get to a smile flitted across his face, but it was a crazy and evil smile which he alone could master. "So where shall we begin? Answer me this, how did Sherlock figure out my accidental hint?"

Mycroft just raised his eyebrows at the consulting criminal as if to ask if he was stupid while not saying a word.

"Are you sure you don't want to answer?" Moriarty crooned, studying the syringe. "You'll regret it the second you feel this, I promise." Still Mycroft said nothing.

"Pity." Moriarty didn't sound sorry at all "Well, looks like we have no choice. Seb, get the camera ready." With that, the consulting criminal whipped out a knife and tore open Mycroft's sleeve before practically stabbing him with the syringe and pressing down the piston. Then Moriarty fell back onto his chair and grinned lazily. "I think you'll start talking pretty soon now, Ice-Man. Even if you don't, this will be funny to watch." Mycroft didn't say anything, but he saw the sniper checking over a camera in the far corner before bringing it closer, and worked out what it was for in micro-seconds.

Then it was burning fire and searing ice all at once, it was boiling, burning pain that shot through his every vein, making his breath hitch in his throat and every pain receptor in his body scream. It was agony, like thousands of swords attacking him, like his skin was burning, like acid was replacing blood. Mycroft didn't make a sound. He was sitting bolt upright, for now. Every muscle was tense as he fought the urge to cry out in pain. He wasn't going to give Moriarty the satisfaction of seeing that, but now his forehead was breaking out in a cold sweat and it was becoming more and more difficult to stay silent. Moriarty gave something near a cackle. "Oh thank you! You've given me the best opportunity to show to you how lenient I can be." With those words, he jabbed another syringe into Mycroft's arm, and a minute or so later, the pain slowly ebbed away. Mycroft slowly let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding and noted how physically weak he felt after that ordeal. He wasn't sure if he could even stand after that. "Going to sing now, Icy-Bird?" Moriarty leered at him. "After all, surely yours and your brother's plans are not worth all that again, only it will be much worse than that, I assure you." He glanced up at his sniper and handed him the first syringe. "fill this one up again, Seb, only make it double, wait no, triple!"

"Yes boss." Seb slouched out and Moriarty got up to go the the camera himself just as it gave a high-pitched bleep.

"Ah!" Moriarty drew back and smirked right at the camera, talking to it. "So glad you could join us!" he turned and grinned maniacally back at Mycroft. "You realise who is watching this, don't you? Our single viewer will see everything that goes on- unless he turns the TV off, of course, but I don't don't think he will." He strolled back and flopped down on the sofa cushions again.  
"Tell me now, Ice-Man, or you know what you'll get: How did _you_ track down my French base? Even you can't have done it alone, who did you bribe to help you, hmm?" Mycroft refused to look at the camera and kept his face void of all emotion as he stared at Moriarty right in the eyes and refused to answer. The consulting criminal's eyes flared, he jumped to his feet and stood directly in front of Mycroft, his knife back in his hand. The blade moved briefly against the skin of Mycroft's neck not-too-gently.

"Speak, Holmes!" Moriarty shrieked, suddenly not so calm. "How is it that Sherlock could track down my most secret operatives? How did he capture them so easily and how did you help him?!"

"Try not to scream so much, you'll hurt your precious voice and the windows." The words escaped from Mycroft's mouth before he could stop them, and Moriarty's face relaxed. But every inch of his crazed anger had instead flooded to his eyes. He gripped the syringe that Moran had returned to him and slowly let go of the knife, dropping it to the plush cushions and looking back at Mycroft.

"How adorable." He murmured. "Seeing as you won't tell me anything, Mycroft Holmes, just answer this one question for me, will you?" he tilted his head to the side and glanced at the camera before asking, "Would your brother do anything- perhaps even...die, for you?"

Mycroft didn't speak, not because he wasn't going to, but because he honestly didn't know the answer. Would he?  
Suddenly there was the sting as Moriarty pressed the syringe into his arm with some relish, and although he had braced himself, nothing could have prepared Mycroft for the agony that seared through his every vein and bone within seconds. He was nearly doubled over and trembling violently, but still he didn't scream, until with a harsh laugh, Moriarty pushed him to the carpeted ground and he finally cried out, unable to keep quiet any longer. Everything was going hazy with the pain surrounding, enveloping, burning him, he was vaguely aware of Moriarty talking to the camera while laughing at him, was vaguely aware of the fact that he wasn't silent any more, but the pain was mounting with every passing second, so unbearable it was a miracle he was still awake. It was like white hot knives delivering every inch and type of pain he had ever felt and more, like molten lava was trapped in his chest, making it hard to even breathe, but still, he clung on to consciousness and refused to, as Moriarty had put it, crack. He refused to give in. Amongst the agony, Mycroft barely noticed the stabbing jolt to his arm until a wave of relief washed over him and the pain slowly ceased, but he was beyond exhausted and felt utterly drained.

Mycroft lay where he was, motionless and struggling to remain awake and at least somewhat alert, though he quickly became aware of the throbbing in his chest and ribs, probably kicked by the criminal mastermind in frustration. There was a familiar metallic taste in his mouth, and he could feel warm liquid slowly trailing down his cheek from his mouth. He didn't open his eyes, and slowly registered the consulting criminal's voice above him.

"Oh what a shame...Seb! The stuff doesn't say anything about an overdose killing, does it?"

"Yeah it does!" came the sniper's reply.

"Oh dear." Moriarty laughed, yes, he laughed, and Mycroft clocked that he was talking to the camera again and forced himself to open his eyes, trying not to squint at the harsh light. "Oh wait!" Moriarty grinned at the camera, which was pointed more at him as he stood over Mycroft, "All is well. Ok, not really all; our British government isn't exactly ok, but still! I think you get my message." Mycroft just focussed on breathing in and out through the remaining pain, and glaring at the consulting criminal.

"Ooooh, doesn't he look angry!" Moriarty giggled, then checked his watch and exclaimed to the camera, "Oh my, would you look at the time! I'd better just tell you the rules of our next game, my dear." He spat out the last two words before pulling out his small gun and twirling it in his palm with a soft psychotic smile.

"The rules are simple. You have...three days- I was going to make it five, but I'm in a good mood. Three days, and I'm giving you no clues, to find out where your beloved brother is being imprisoned." Moriarty gave a chuckle with his words and continued, "Three days, no clues, or else..." Slowly, Moriarty turned and pointed the gun at Mycroft, who had struggled into a somewhat propped-up-on-shoulders position and stared coldly and with contempt at the consulting criminal until, with something of a snarl, Moriarty kicked him hard in the chest and he fell back in silent pain. Mycroft opened his eyes again as an idea flashed into his mind and while the consulting criminal was diverted, he tapped his fingers on the carpet silently, looking right at the camera for the first time.

"Boss?" Moran had re-appeared in the doorway, holding yet another syringe, but one that Mycroft recognised as having the anesthetise in it.

"Oh yes, Sebby, go right ahead." Moriarty grinned (if that was possible) and gave the camera a little finger wave. "Well, it was so nice to speak to you, though I am just going to have to imagine your face. I suppose I'll be seeing you soon, Sherlock. Bye-bye!" Moran had already jabbed the syringe into his arm and by the time Moriarty had finished talking, the blackness had rolled over Mycroft once again.

"_Sherlock?" ... "Sherlock, what's up with you? You're staring at a blank TV screen like it holds the answer to life; what the bloody h*ll has happened?"_

"_...James Moriarty just kicked my brother."_

* * *

_A/N: 0_0 FFabeonG, what drug were _you_ on when you wrote this? Hehe, anyway this scene was inspired by the brilliant artwork by Torheit-die-Katze on Deviantart called "We have a plan". Check it out and notice I said i would include a scene based of it in the comments :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Escape: unlikely?**

"Mycroft! Mycroft, wake up! Please be ok, Mycroft, please..."

Star. Star's gentle voice, soaked with worry, stirred in Mycroft's consciousness and he slowly opened his eyes, memories of what had happened floating back with the remaining pain.

"S-Star...?" he managed to squint at her, able to see even in the dim light her wide terrified eyes and worried expression as she pressed the familiar washcloth to his cut lip. Relief washed over her features when he spoke and she slowly sank to the ground of the cellar, unable to hide a wince as she did so. Then she leaned closer, worry creeping back into her eyes.

"Mycroft...are you alright? What did they _do_ to you? You look terrible!" she said.

"Well noticed." Mycroft winced at his own pain and avoided the questions, focussing instead on what he could deduce from Star. "Are _you_ alright?"

"What does that matter?" Star questioned with a shake of her head, then picked up a glass of water and some painkillers from beside her. "I thought you might need these." She spoke a little softer, a smile twitching on the corner of her lips as Mycroft nodded. As she popped two tablets into the water and swirled it to make them dissolve, she said, "I saw you passed out pretty quickly after-" she suddenly broke off, but Mycroft interrupted before she could speak her mind.

"There's no need to apologise, my dear Star." He assured her. Star relaxed slightly as she helped him to drink the water and went on. "All I see is you being taken away, then four hours later they drag you back with you looking like you've been tortured or something. What happened to you?"

"Funnily enough, you're not far off." Mycroft gave in and briefly told her what had occurred. Star's eyes widened in horror.

"That monster." She whispered. "How could he do that to you? And Sherlock! That must have been terrible for him, having to see that."

"My brother has the brain of a scientist or a philosopher. How badly it affected him- if at all- is debatable." Mycroft shrugged, the pain having eased. Star tilted her head slightly.

"But he's still human." She replied as if that said it all.

"Many would disagree with you. Sherlock has been called a machine more times that he can remember." Mycroft paused Well, so have I, but I can remember every time. Unfortunately."

"Why?" Oh, that honesty, Mycroft would never get over it. "You are human as well." Star went on "Why would people call you a machine?"

"I have said in the past that I am living in a world of goldfish. Ordinary people and their fruitless, dull, everyday emotions bore me. Even one of the cleverest men in England refers to me as 'the ice-man'. Years of practice has payed off, and most people regard me as purely emotionless." Mycroft explained with a small shrug as if it was nothing. Then he gave a small frown as he noticed Star fighting with a smile. "What's funny?" he asked.

"Goldfish?" Star laughed "That's what you think of us ordinary people?"

"It's a useful simile." Mycroft replied, slightly surprised by how she had found it amusing. Most people would have found it more than a little disturbing, and Star's casualness was a welcome break.

"Oh yes, this might cheer you up." Star reached to pull from her pocket a small notebook and as she flipped through, went on. "When they brought you back, the blonde Londoner stayed behind to talk to my sister and this time, I did evesdrop."

"Moriarty mentioned the basics, I believe." Mycroft leaned forward and listened closely "But carry on."

"Well..." Star glanced up "It's interesting, because from what I picked up, it doesn't sound as though you or I were the first forced residents of this cellar, and it doesn't sound as though my sister has a good track record with them. The man was saying things like...'Boss has reminded me that if you screw up again, there are no limits on how we can punish you' and before he left he said 'three days. And remember to note _everything _Sherlock does if he comes here, don't stop him, just note.'"

"Three days." Mycroft shut his eyes and began to think deeply. Then he suddenly snapped out of it and pressed, "Go on, Star. How did you pick up we weren't the first to be here?"

"He mentioned them, the Londoner that is. Just in passing reminders of Elaine's previous failures. The names were..." Star flicked through the pages of her notebook. "James Phillimore, Rachel Sommerhold and Antony. He didn't mention a name for the last one, I'm afraid."

"James Phillimore. I remember the case; Sherlock had it, of course, but there wasn't enough data to solve it." Mycroft pondered as he looked about the cell with new eyes. After a period of deep thought (again), Star dared to interrupt.

"Mycroft?" Mycroft looked up again at her to show he was listening and she went on, "What did he mean, three days? Until what?"

"Sherlock has three days to deduce where I am, otherwise I shall be killed." He replied calmly.

"That can't happen." Star looked shocked, but reigned it in. "But if anyone can solve a mystery like that, surely your own brother can."

"No data, Star, no data!" Mycroft shook his head impatiently "Unless something short of a miracle occurs, whatever Moriarty plans will probably work."

"No it won't."

"Pardon?" Mycroft frowned.

"What, you think I'm just going to let that happen?" Star demanded. "Just sit by and watch my sister or that deputy of a monster shoot you dead?"

"What do you suggest?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows in questioning.

"Let me think." Star chuckled slightly as she added "My brain doesn't work as fast as yours does. I am, after all, a goldfish to you."

"Not quite." Mycroft sighed, only registering what he'd said a second later, but brushed it off. Star struggled to her feet, picking up the washcloth as she did so.

"I'll keep thinking, I promise." She said.

"Be careful." Mycroft warned her instinctively.

"I'll try, don't worry." Star chuckled ruefully and the metal door clanged shut after her.

* * *

_A/N: Cookie points to whoever notices and can tell me the canon Holmes story reference I make in this chapter! Anyway I hope you all stick around and are enjoying this, it's far from over...  
_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6-Escape: planned and executed**

Death. It wasn't something Mycroft had given much thought to, despite the number of times it had practically stared him in the face. Dying himself wasn't a concern for him, he knew it would happen sooner or later, and he had always known it was unlikely he would die in his bed. But to die here, and in the threatened way, well, it certainly wasn't what Mycroft had imagined. He hated the very idea of it, and yet...

If Sherlock pursued the "game", as Moriarty was putting it, he was exposing himself to so much danger, much more than normal seeing as Mycroft wasn't there to keep an unknown eye on him and often prevent danger before it occurred. Now that was gone, most of Mycroft was secretly wishing Sherlock would do anything to keep out of trouble.

He also found himself vaguely wondering what would happen after his death. His will, of course, left everything to Sherlock, with a few expenses and sentimental items spared for Mummy. But his job? Would anyone take over? And the whole fiasco had happened at such an inconvenient time; it wasn't long until the major debates in Bulgaria, as well as more European elections. He had to admit, the situation looked bleak, he knew deep down there wasn't enough data for Sherlock to find him, despite the message he had tapped via the video, and yet...what could be done?

As more than a day trudged past, Elaine Olinair made regular appearences with her only aim apparently to be as annoying as possible and see how much she could hurt him. Not that that was actually so difficult, because even as over a day fell by, Mycroft would still suffer sudden spasms of pain, almost withdrawl symptoms from the torturing serum. These periods of suffering would always leave him feeling drowsy and light-headed, and it was during one of these stupors that he suddenly felt a hand shaking his arm.

"Mycroft! Wake up!" his eyes snapped open and he sat bolt upright, unable to see a thing in the pitch black. But he recognised the voice.

"Star?"

"Shhh." Star shushed him worriedly "I hoped that Elaine would go up to bed before the drugs kicked in, but no luck. She's literally just above our heads, in the sitting room."

"You drugged your sister?!" Mycroft blinked at the sudden light of a torch as Star used it to help her unlock the chains on his wrists and put them to the ground.

"Yes, to put it bluntly, I did. Can you stand?" Star held out her hand, but out of consideration for her prosthetic leg, Mycroft leaned on the wall to get up and nodded as Star put a finger to her lips and led the way through the metal door. He shut it as silently as possible and observed in front of them a flight of stairs going straight up into more darkness; Star ascended first, shining the torch down so that Mycroft could see where to put his feet until they reached what felt like a ledge at the top of the stairs. They were obviously in front of some doors- a crack of light was seeping through the gap- and Star turned to a number pad, which had the digits lit up by LEDs. Mycroft listened carefully, he could hear rustlings from behind the door, and he glanced at his companion before speaking in a low voice,

"Star, are you sure this will all work?"

Star turned from the number pad, having keyed in all but the last number and gave her reply in a quiet, yet steady tone,

"I've said already, I trust you. Now you need to trust me."

Mycroft didn't say anything, he just nodded. It was all that he needed to do. Star pressed the last number- three- and the door slid open noiselessly, opening into a small ordinary-house sitting room which the two entered. Mycroft turned as they entered and watched as the doors slid shut again and a large bookcase scraped over the doors, hiding them completely from view.

"Impressive." He commented. "Well thought out; no-one would know it was there."

"It's clever, isn't it?" Star nodded. She had been leaning over her unconscious sister on the couch and now got back up. "She'll definitely be like this for an hour at least, which is more than we need, hopefully." Now she pushed open a wooden door behind in the right corner of the room, and they entered a brightly lit and pleasantly decorated hall, with a coat rack hung up by the front door. From this Star took a large coat which could only be hers, as it was large the royal inky blue Mycroft had deduced, and as she turned to give it to him, the lamplight fell fully across her face and Mycroft savoured every detail he could see properly now. Her eyes were indeed that 70% cocoa chocolate, her skin was a soft caramel in colour, and her midnight-black hair was not tied back for once, meaning that it fell around her face and was just long enough to rest on her shoulders, and around her neck hung a gold chain with a grey-stoned star charm on it.

"Star." He murmured, nodding at it with a questioning glance. Star herself gave a small smile.

"Well noticed." She gingerly twirled the charm between her fingers, when suddenly her eyes widened. "Hang on, I need to give you something!"  
She hurried though another wooden door, this time on the right of the hall, and Mycroft caught a glimpse of a pristine white kitchen, but his eyes were speedily drawn to the odd stains on the tiles and quick deductions speedily raised his hatred of Elaine Olinair. Just then, Star reappeared and when he saw what she was holding, Mycroft's eyes widened in surprise and relief.

"My umbrella?!" he gladly took it from her and noted that it was almost pristine.

"Yes." Star nodded "I managed to get hold of it and look after it."

"Thank you." Mycroft shrugged on the coat, glad that it fitted, and checked the pockets.

"I put some money in there for a phone call or a cab. I couldn't find your phone, I think Elaine destroyed it, oh, and take this. It could be useful." Star pulled her watch off her wrist as she spoke and gave it to Mycroft. He studied it quickly and glanced up at Star.

"This was your father's." He pointed out.

"Well, yes, but you need it right now." Star gave him a slightly shaky smile as he put the watch on, and he paused to memorise it. He had seen many women who were stereotypically classed as "pretty" or "sexy", but even the main part of his brain, the emotionless calculating machine, knew that Star was beautiful. Slowly, he reached and took her hand in his, holding it firmly to still the trembling. Star looked down at their hands, and despite everything, Mycroft could see the dread and apprehension in her eyes.

"You're afraid of your sister, aren't you?" he said softly.

"More her boss than her now." Star admitted, then raised her eyes as Mycroft said,

"So come with me!"

"I'll take what comes, don't worry." Star shook her head "I don't want to cause any more risks to you than I already have, and if you can survive what he threw at you, then so should I."

"Our minds work in different ways, Star." Mycroft frowned. Star's smile broadened a little.

"Then maybe the next time I see you will be in Heaven." She laughed, quietly enough to not wake her sister, but loud enough to make Mycroft chuckle as well.

"I think we will meet again before that." He remarked, letting go of her hand as she brushed past him and unlocked the front door.

"I hope so." Star smiled at him. Mycroft nodded and stepped outside, his pale keen eyes darting about and working out exactly where he was, which took less than a minute.

"Goodbye Star." He said lightly.

"Goodbye Mycroft." She called softly after him "Trust me, I will be fine."

"And you trust me, so will I!" he called back with a chuckle, watching the slim figure in the doorway raise her hand in farewell before closing the door slowly, effectively trapping herself back into the hell she lived in. Mycroft shook his head before turning back towards the road, his eyes icy-sharp with thought. He had a difficult journey ahead of him, but he knew where he would go.

"Sherlock, for heaven's sake just go to bed and get some sleep" John exclaimed, exasperated as he came through to the kitchen in the early hours of the morning to see Sherlock sitting in the exact position he had been sitting in for 48 hours.

"No. Time's running out John, Mummy will be so upset if Mycroft dies!"

"You make it sound like you won't care!" John leaned over the table and glared at Sherlock.

"That doesn't matter now- OH SHUT UP! " the last outburst from the sociopath was directed at a sharp knock at the door.

"I'll get it." John yawned, pulling on his nearby jumper and undoing the latch. Standing outside in the unsteady light was a tall man, stooped over as if with old age, wearing a dark coat and a slightly battered hat.

"I need to see Sherlock Holmes." He spoke in a low, unfamiliar voice.

"He won't see anyone, I'm warning you." John replied cautiously.

"He will. He will see me." John raised his eyebrows sceptically, but showed the man inside to where Sherlock sat.

"Go away." Sherlock snapped without looking up from his laptop. John moved to make himself a quick cup of tea when the man replied in a suddenly clearer and familiar voice.

"I think not, Sherlock." The consulting detective's head snapped up, as did John's, but it took him a minute or so to realise.

"Mycroft?!" Sherlock slammed the laptop lid down and rushed over to his older brother, grabbing his arms but immediately retracting his grip when Mycroft winced. "How? How are you here?!" Sherlock suddenly broke off to shove the coat off Mycroft's frame and stared in horror at his arms. "What did they _do_ to you?!" he spat, pressing at the burn marks and other bruises.

"Nothing that won't fade." Mycroft replied, turning to hang up the coat carefully and pull off the hat. John took one look and vanished into his room, returning in a minute with his first-aid kit.

"Sit down on the sofa." He ordered Mycroft, who slowly obeyed, and John sat down opposite, took his wrists and began to see to the wounds while Sherlock flopped down in his chair.

"So come on!" he leaned towards his brother "Who was it? What did they want? Who was it who helped you?"

Mycroft closed his eyes and began to recount the whole adventure, deliberately leaving out the details of his and Star's conversations, but explaining how Moriarty had tortured him and how he had escaped. By the time he was finished, several hours had passed and it was hard to tell which Holmes brother looked more exhausted.

"Well." John spoke up after some silence. "That explains a lot, doesn't it?"

"Not quite yet..." Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut and adopted his thinking pose as John stifled a yawn and managed to say,

"Mycroft, I'll get you a blanket and you can sleep on the couch. You'll need it, and Sherlock, if you don't sleep now I swear I will make you regret it."

"Alright, alright." Sherlock rose and followed John as he got a blanket for Mycroft before they disappeared into their rooms. Barely a minute passed before Sherlock's door swung open again and the consulting detective strode in again, wrapped in his sheet. He looked down at his brother for a second or two, as if puzzling something out, when he suddenly dropped to his knees and hugged Mycroft desperately, taking the Ice Man by surprise. But slowly, he reach out and hugged Sherlock back, noting that his little brother still used the vanilla kid's shampoo he had used as a child. Then Sherlock pulled back and rushed back to his room, faking a yawn and acting as if nothing had happened. Mycroft shook his head.

"Just for once, Sherlock, will you please behave like a grown-up." He muttered, but with a light twitch of the mouth.

* * *

_A/N: As you guys can probably now tell, I am a sucker for Holmes brothers fluff :) (melts...) Am I alone in this...? No...? Goodie :D  
_

_Oh, and don't think I'm finished with these guys just yet..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7-Case: complete?**

Mycroft slowly awoke to a smash and an explosion sound coming from Sherlock's room and he sat up, the blanket falling off him as he did so.

"You awake?" John came in from the kitchen. "Let's see your arms."

Mycroft rolled back his sleeves and John inspected the marks, which were beginning to heal over nicely. At that point, Sherlock stumbled in, holding a shattered test tube.

"Clean this up for me, will you, John?" he held it out.

"I'm more likely to throw it away." John raised his eyebrows, but took the test tube anyway. Sherlock turned to Mycroft.

"I still have one of your suits in my wardrobe if you want to get changed." He said in a bored voice.

"Thank you." Mycroft accepted the offer, and not long later he was dressed and watching Sherlock skim through the news on John's laptop as they ate breakfast. After a while, Sherlock suddenly frowned and scrolled back up, his eyes narrowing as he read the article and then glanced up at Mycroft.

"This might interest you, brother mine." He drawled, glancing back down at the screen. "Our dear Elaine Olinair has got herself into a bit of an accident. Moriarty's doing, I bet you."

"No surprise." Mycroft sipped his tea "Shot, was she?"

"Mmm, no. Hit by a mysterious car that sped away immediately afterwards." Sherlock replied, still reading. "Her and her sister were both in the accident, Elaine was killed outright,-"

"Half-sister." Mycroft corrected absent-mindedly, then suddenly clocked what his brother had said. "Wait, what?! Olinair's half-sister was in it too?"

"Yes." Sherlock looked up, slightly confused.

"Is she alright?" Mycroft expertly kept his voice steady and calm. But if Star was dead...it would be his fault and he wasn't sure he could live with that.

"In hospital, St Barts." Sherlock was looking back at the article. "Injured, but not life-threatening. Intresting though, seems like she was-"

"Kidnapped by her half sister for over a year, I know." Mycroft rested his elbows on the table and adopted the Holmes thinking pose, his eyebrows furrowing. Then he opened his eyes again and looked at Sherlock. "What's her name?" he asked "The half-sister's" Sherlock scrolled up for a second or two, and paused before replying,

"Mei-Xing."

"Amazing?!" John misheard.

"It's pronounced May-Shing. Mei-Xing." Mycroft corrected him, closing his eyes again. His knowledge of Chinese was limited, but he could translate that name, and suddenly he understood. "Beautiful star." He muttered.

"John, call a cab." Sherlock got up. "We're going to St Bart's."

"What, why?" John looked up in confusion and Mycroft raised his head.

"Mycroft's worried, plus I want to see the dead body." Sherlock returned, going to grab his coat and flinging the one Mycroft had worn at him. Mycroft caught it as he got to his feet and raised his eyebrows at his brother.

"You can experiment on Olinair's body all you wish, I'll see to that. You can even burn it if you want." He smirked, and Sherlock's mouth twitched in return.

Not long later, the three of them were entering St Bart's hospital, John greeting various people he knew and just gesturing to Sherlock when asked what brought him here. It was John too, who got them through the queue of daily visitors and got a nurse who took them to the room where Star was. But on the way, Sherlock began to whinge about him being bored, and John, sighing, agreed to take him to the mortuary, so it was only Mycroft that the nurse cautioned about the patient's fragile health before shutting the door and leaving him.

He turned towards the bed and saw, to some surprise, that the patient was wide awake and staring at him with wide and scared eyes.

"Mycroft?" she whispered. With a small smile, he moved to sit on the edge of her bed, discarding his coat and umbrella on the chair beside her.

"Mei-Xing." He replied softly, as if savouring her name. A tiny, painful smile tugged on the corners of Mei-Xing's lips.

"So now you know." She chuckled weakly.

"So now I know." He nodded, then he frowned. "What happened? Tell me." Mei-Xing closed her eyes, but Mycroft noted the tenseness of her muscles that gave away how she didn't want to recollect the event.

"There's not much to tell, really. She had dragged me outside after- anyway, we were halfway across the road when the car just...shot at us! It was like it had been waiting, but, then again...it probably was, wasn't it?" Mei-Xing looked up at Mycroft.

"Moriarty would have heard what had happened quickly." He replied, still frowning. Then he looked Mei-Xing in the eyes and took her hand in both of his, gently out of concern for her broken fingers, but needlessly deducing that they hadn't come from the accident. He clenched his jaw as his eyes were drawn to other marks, bruises, _cuts_, and he spoke again in a dangerously cool tone. "Forgive me, but there is no-one I loathe more right now that Elaine Olinair." Mei-Xing looked at him, he could see her agreement, but her voice was hollow.

"But she's dead now." She said.

"She can't hurt you anymore." Mycroft reassured her.

"I-I know, but..." Mei-Xing broke off as tears sprung up in her eyes and she raised her spare hand to try and rub them away. "Sorry." She whispered. "It's stupid for me t-to cry like this-"

"It's ok." Mycroft spoke softly as he lifted one hand to tenderly cup her cheek and wiped the escaping tears away before holding her hand again. "You don't need to worry."

"But what will happen to me now?" Mei-Xing asked miserably "I have no-where to go, no family left."

"Do you really think," Mycroft raised his eyebrows "That after everything that's happened, I am not going to return your kindness? I will look after you, I promise."

"Really?" Mei-Xing looked up at him, hope replacing tears in her eyes.

"Really." Mycroft smiled languidly, and then suddenly it hit him, as quickly and as forcefully as a waterfall, the truth about something he should have realised a while ago.  
"Oh stupid, stupid, stupid!" He muttered to himself with a shake of the head.

"What's the matter?" Mei-Xing asked. "You're not stupid, Mycroft, far from it!"

"I have been blind, then, to not notice what was staring me in the face." He replied, raising her hand again and cupping her cheek.

"Which was?"

Mycroft paused and looked at her; Mei-Xing, Star, the half-sister of a murderer, and couldn't help a Holmes smirk appearing before he leant forward and pressed his lips to hers in a chaste, sweet kiss, revelling in the new feelings that swarmed in his usually methodical and calculating brain. Any apprehension he had previously had was swept away as Mei-Xing tentatively (at first) kissed him back, her lips tasting pleasantly of vanilla and gingerbread, Christmassy tastes that Mycroft realised he had missed from childhood. After a while, they slowly broke apart and Mycroft gave a low chuckle at Mei-Xing's expression.

"Does that make it clear?" he murmured. The corners of Mei-Xing's mouth twitched before she smiled properly.

"Oh I think it does." She chuckled as well. "To put it lightly, am I not a goldfish to you?"

Mycroft laughed, a low, quiet laugh.

"Mmmm, no." He agreed, then an idea hit him and he smirked again. "You live up to your name, Beautiful Star."

He watched as her cheeks flushed at the compliment, and before she could reply, he pressed another kiss to her lips in a silent declaration of affection. Needless to say, she returned the gesture eagerly.

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A/N: _BOOH-YA! The good ship My-Xing has set sail for good [is that a good ship name? Let me know if you have a better idea :D_]

_...nope, FFabeonG is _still_ not finished quite yet... just one more (really short) chapter :)_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8- Future**

The rain fell faster and more heavily over London, and the woman sheltering as best she could under the hospital entrance pulled her ink-blue coat around her and shivered. Beside her rested a small suitcase which contained her few belongings, and as she waited, her long fingers nervously twirled the grey star on her gold-chained necklace. Then suddenly, the rain wasn't falling on her anymore and she looked up to see someone holding a black umbrella over her head and she grinned, turning to the man holding the umbrella and leaned up to place a quick kiss on his lips. With a smirk typical of his family name, the man took her hand briefly before letting go to pick up her bag. The woman looked down at her hand and chuckled as she returned the familiar watch to around her wrist.

"Thank you, Mymy." She took his arm and they began to walk to the car. Her companion rolled his eyes at the nickname.

"You have defiantly been talking to Sherlock too much, my dear." He grumbled, but with a smile on his face. She just laughed, and he paused their walk to turn and press his lips to hers in a soft kiss.  
"Mei-Xing, I do believe I am in love with you." Mycroft said thoughtfully when they parted.

"That's good." Mei-Xing chuckled "Because I love you too."

_The End...for now _

* * *

_A/N: And there you have it...for now!_

_Thank you so much to all you guys for your patience with my uploading messes and I hope you enjoyed this story :) Mini-sequels are planned, but they will probably appear on my DeviantArt account (again: FFabeonG), so check that out :D_


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